Facing more than the past
by irizactemp
Summary: The days were a blur. She was away from the lab more often than not, unsure of time passing like the leaves in fall. He'd killed someone. The pain still lingered. If she had asked, would Zach have done something just as terrible for her? Rated T for weird angst and terrible OOCness.


Facing more than the past

Set in a slight AU, Zach x Bennan

Disclaimer: I do not own Bones. I just love this couple, even if it's not cannon in any way, shape, or form

AN: Now that I go back and re-read it, this IS SO OOC. Just a fair warning.

* * *

The days were a blur. She was away from the lab more often than not, unsure of time passing like the leaves in fall. In some ways, she acknowledged the passing of time. But in others she was stuck in one place.

He'd killed someone.

Not just Zach, or Zacharoni, or Zachary Urie Addy. _Her _Zach_._ He had killed someone. Stabbed them in the heart.

Of course, he hadn't done anything other than that; just dragged him back to his mentor. She closed her eyes. No, she was his mentor. The Gormagon was . . . was his _master_, not _mentor_.

The pain still lingered. If she had asked, would Zach have done something just as terrible for her? She knew the answer, but she didn't want to think about that.

"Hey, Brennan?"

Temperance Brennan opened her eyes to see her best friend, Angela Montenegro, sitting next to her.

"Hey." Brennan said weakly.

"Are you alright, honey?" Angela asked, slipping an arm around the exhausted woman.

"Yeah. It's just . . . Zach."

Angela winced. "Honey, that was almost a year ago."

"I know." Temperance put her head in her hands. "I . . . I just miss him."

Angela sighed. "You know how I hate to say this, but you have a job here, honey. You've sat around for almost a year in various locations and moped almost continually. Unless you're drunk, in which case, you're hyper." Both she and Brennan smiled at that. "I think it's time you go see him."

The brunet looked up in astonishment. "Go see him?"

"Yeah. There are visiting hours that you can set up to go see him."

"But—but . . ." The forensic anthropologist was shocked. She couldn't explain why. It was quite a normal thing. But see him again? "But that would be like a lightning bolt."

Angela nodded. "But you need to face him. If you don't, you might be this way forever. He broke your heart, but now it's time to face that."

"I don't love him." Brennan said, louder than she meant to.

Angela quickly scooted away. "Okay, okay! What I said didn't have to mean that!"

The brunet relaxed. "I know. Sorry."

The artist sighed. "Look, honey; it may be painful, but you gotta do what you gotta do."

Brennan sighed and put her head in her hands again. "You're right."

* * *

"ZACH!" The young man looked up to see the paint-splattered girl running towards him. He braced himself.

She tackled him, brush and pallet in hand. "Zach will be my next piece of art!" She declared, mixing red with green and diving for his forehead. Zach blocked her attack, but barely.

"Zach!" She wined, "let me paint you!"

The forensic anthropologist backed, then ran, away. The blonde-haired painter followed him with a furry—but Zach knew how to escape her. He dashed into her art room and hid behind her newest painting.

The artist was postponed, not wanting to endanger her painting. That was enough time for him to dash out and close the door behind him.

"Zach?" The young man looked up to see the warden. "Someone is here to see you."

* * *

Temperance Brennan slipped her card through the lock and waited. The light flashed green, accompanied by a cheerful beep. She turned the doorknob and entered the room. Zach Addy sat at the table, looking normal and logical. Her shoulders lightened the moment she saw him—not that she realized this. What she did notice was that the expected lightning did not come. The pain she felt inside was, in fact, lessening.

"Zach."

"Dr. Brennan."

They nodded to each other, and she took the seat across from him. His brown eyes smiled at her, even though his mouth didn't.

"How have you been?"

"Bored." He said frankly.

His former mentor smiled. "Of course." Not consciously, she reached her hand across the table. His gloved hand met hers halfway, and their fingers intertwined. The heart throbbed, but she didn't pull away.

It was a good throbbing, even though it hurt.

After a moment of companionable silence, she took the pack off her shoulder and put it on the table, using only her left arm.

"I'm having a little bit of trouble with this case," she said, sliding the pack across the table. "Would you mind checking it out?"

With his left hand, Zach deftly retrieved some of the papers, despite having wounded and gloved hands. "Is there anything particularly interesting about this case?"

"We found a body that's been hacked into thirteen pieces, including the head—which is missing."

Zach leaned forward to examine the pictures he had withdrawn from the package. His forehead was slightly creased. "I would presume he was OCD."

Temperance smiled. It was just like him to deduce things like that so fast. "Yes."

Zach's gloved fingers began to lightly stroke the back of her right hand. She looked down at the table and away from his face as she realized that she had been studying him the entire time. Also, she was ticklish.

She decided that the throbbing was like someone was sewing her together again, only at a milder level. It hurt, but at the same time you gained comfort from the knowledge that you would be fine again.

"I would like to know who the suspects are." The long-haired boy said. It was slightly curly at the ends—and had streaks of a lighter color. Also messy. He gently flipped her hand onto its back. She felt goose-bumps rising along her arm, and for the first time was glad he couldn't exactly feel with his hands.

The throbbing lessened, but only slightly.

"Booth has a better idea of that," she said, "But I would say that so far there is his mother, a lover, an instructor, a fellow OCD classmate, and a coffee shop owner." She smiled slightly. "Though the last two are debatable."

He glanced up at her. "Why?"

"The classmate is sure that he killed him because he didn't eat lunch on time. Of course, this could be to throw us off his trail."

By now, Zach had moved his hand along her arm and was gently tracing math equations against her wrist. _4(3)_, _6(2)_. The problems were not complicated, but the simplicity added to the charm . . . she felt like she could tell what he was thinking—though that was impossible by the light and slow touch. His mind must be racing two thousand, four hundred, thirty and seven times faster than that. But the throbbing lessened even more.

"The coffee shop owner claims to be at fault for a similarly ridiculous reason."

"But could also be trying to throw you off his trail." He clarified, and she nodded.

He nodded back, then looked down at the case.

The throbbing returned with full force. Their relationship was just like before; casual, but a feeling of understanding that was continually felt between them. But it could never be that way again.

By now, his hand was just gently covering her wrist. She gently squeezed his, careful of the burns nearby, then began to slowly pull away. She wasn't sure she could take it anymore. He let her arm slide through his grasp; but wouldn't let her palm go through. He gently encased her left hand with both of his. The warmth flew through her body, and the throbbing slowly lessened the longer he held her hand.

Zach then leaned forward, lifting their hands as he did so. "Angela told me you couldn't find a reliable new assistant." She was glad he hadn't mentioned the almost year-long moping session.

She nodded. "No one's up to the standard. Some of them don't know what we're looking for, and others get sidetracked. It's very frustrating."

"I'm sorry it's not going well." He said frankly as he gently turned her hand right side up again, letting his right hand loosen.

She knew what to say next, and she was going to say it. But her heart throbbed particularly painfully. "No one's up to _your_ standard."

His brow creased again. "Are they all stupid?"

"No, it's not that." She smiled and looked down. "It's just that no one . . . no one even comes close."

"No one can beat the King of the loony bin," he said quietly as he took her thumb between his index finger and thumb. It looked like he was studying it. She smiled wider as the throbbing slowly retreated.

"Would you like me—"

He gently kissed the cuticle.

She caught her breath and felt her cheeks heating. Her heart throbbed more fiercely than ever, conflicting with the warm butterflies that filled her stomach. He was still studying her thumb, gently stroking the knuckle and nail. Temperance was charmed.

He glanced up at her. "If you would please continue."

"Would you like me to describe them to you," she said breathily, "so you can help me decide?"

He nodded, switching to her forefinger. He continued the gentle study all the time she was talking—describing people who would replace him in some ways and in other ways fell completely flat. For each person, he kissed said finger and moved on to the next one. Each time, her heart throbbed and the butterflies grew in numbers.

She may not have realized, but with each passing moment she moved forward the space of a molecule. The fingertips of her right hand tingled jealously. As she finished describing the fourth and final intern, her face was next to his. He gently lowered her hand to the table and released it. The air was crisp and cold against her skin . . . but then he touched her cheek and that disappeared. He leaned forward. Her heart beat and throbbed faster and harder as the distance closed.

Then he kissed her nose. The throbbing all but disappeared. She opened her eyes slightly to give him a look of both offence and gratitude; but mostly of offence.

"Not right now." He told her gently, stroking her cheek. "I need to tell you some things about what I did and why I did them, and see if you can accept that. I want you to be sure."

The mention of his crimes jostled her heart painfully; but she knew he was right. They needed to take this slow.

And that is when they both heard the cheerful beep that accompanied the opening of a door. They both jumped backward, looked towards said door, and beheld Dr. Lance Sweets entering the room.

"Dr. Brennan!" The physiologist said cheerfully. "I didn't expect you to be here. Do you want to stay in for this session?"

Temperance was angry, though she couldn't explain why. She stood, securing the bag that was on her left shoulder. "No, it's alright. I was . . . just about to leave." She quickly walked to the door and whipped out her card. She glanced back at the last second and looked at her beloved Zach, who flashed her a small smile.

She was coming back again, no matter what. The stitches in her heart were already doing their job.

Angela was right; facing him was the best thing she could have done.


End file.
